


Deathclaw: the tale of Mister Fluffykins

by Charles_Rockafellor



Series: Love against the darkness [4]
Category: Sonic the Hedgehog (Video Games), Super Mario & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, 無彩限のファントム・ワールド | Musaigen no Phantom World | Myriad Colors Phantom World - Anime
Genre: Cat, Exposure, Family Feels, Food Anxiety, Gen, Herding Cats, Hope, Loyalty, Mash-up, Privation, Starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:14:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24352675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charles_Rockafellor/pseuds/Charles_Rockafellor
Summary: We all need somebody to lean on: how Mister Fluffykins (et alios) came to be part of Queen Peach's family.𝑫𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝑳𝒊𝒌𝒆, 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒖𝒃𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒆! ❤️
Series: Love against the darkness [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751167
Collections: Family, Light World





	Deathclaw: the tale of Mister Fluffykins

**Author's Note:**

> The events described below take place shortly after our party's triumphant return to Hyrule City, necessarily after 15 Mar 6562 PB (𝑃𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝐵𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑢𝑚), but not much after that.

The Siberian-striped Savannah Coon pawed at the garbage bin without hope of opening it. The lid was jammed down. Deathclaw **1** was hungry. He hadn't eaten for three... no, _four_ suns, but that wasn't the worst of it. After a few suns, you don't really notice the hunger anymore, especially when so long a stint is typical, but there were others counting on him, others to see fed first – smaller, weaker, hungrier. The suns were getting just a little longer and warmer, but there was still so much time before it was warm again. This was his third cold-moons out here, and he was getting too old for this.

The stadium was a lean hunting ground, but unclaimed by any others, albeit for just that reason.

A noise alerted him to someone's presence, and he darted behind the bin. He couldn't afford to lose his claim here, not if there were any chance of obtainable food within it.

It was a high-pitched cooing noise. Someone was calling to him, trying to entice him, to lure him from his hiding place.

Peach placed her brätwurst on the ground nearby to his hiding spot and backed away gently. It took ten minutes before he determined that she simply wasn't going to leave, and the meat smelled so good...

She held no weapons, but that meant nothing if the meat already held death within. Her body was relaxed, and her face looked... well, he couldn't tell, they all looked the same to him, but she smelled... safe? She had a pack-scent to her. He'd never smelled one so tightly bound, and... six or seven species? Too much to sort out quickly, he focused on just her scent – sweet-flowers – but even then it was caught up with an inextricable _other_ , a mate-scent, peppery and slightly nose-biting.

Making a show of caution, he approached the meat, but it betrayed nothing. Taking a small taste, it seemed acceptable. In a heartbeat, he'd savaged it energetically, but palmed it in order to bring back to his pack. He couldn't afford to risk her knowing that he was taking it elsewhere.

He turned to leave. He was so tired and cold already, but he had to return to the others with this prize, and to return with this made it worthwhile in itself. He was drooling, but steeled himself against the nearly overwhelming need to rend.

Again he heard the cooing noise. Placing the meat carefully beneath his belly, he turned his head back. Her noises changed, becoming almost intelligible.

“Nnng-rr? Nnng-rr-rr-rr...” Peach called to him, trying to get across to him a pleading.

 _Had she just..._ called _to him? No..._

Again, Peach tried to reach him, “Yahrr- _ow_!”

 _She can_ talk _?!?_

Arching her head and back downward, almost submissively, she placed something on the ground.

_He couldn't near her without her knowing that he still had the meat, but she'd made no untoward moves of petty cruelty or spite as yet._

She stared at him, worried, “ʻm-mrr?”

He sat there staring at her in return, confused and uncertain.

When at last he'd brought himself to the milkshake's lid on the ground before her, he drank what was there enthusiastically, strawberry and banana notwithstanding. He couldn't bring it with him, hence it was food that he could eat for himself without much guilt. Peach found a discarded plate and poured the rest of her 'shake into it for him.

“Wait here? I'll be right back!” she urged, hoping that somehow he'd grasp her meaning, she followed this with “Mr- _rr_!”

Deathclaw waited.

_This tall-one was strange, but intriguing. Clearly she intended to return shortly, and evinced no apparent malice, but her agenda was unfathomable._

Sweet-Flower returned soon enough. He could smell more food with her. This was confirmed as soon as she crouched nearby and began emptying her cloth sack. There was so much that he could eat some while still withholding the main for his pack.

She left again twice more, though only for short periods to attend Zelda's fights, returning shortly thereafter with still more food at each turn.

The afternoon drew to a close, and she made more calm-noises at him.

“I'll come back tomorrow, I promise! O.K.?” she asked him, “I have to leave now, but I _will_ be back – _please_ don't go away.”

Upon his return, having dragged the sack of food along, Deathclaw yowled for his pack, and they appeared in twos and threes. Their looks were both hopeful and desperately empty. They could smell the food, but it simply never crossed their minds that it might be anyplace that they might acquire it at all.

Two carried kittens with them, not even two moons old.

_Fuck! They already didn't have enough to eat, and the cold-moons weren't done yet. Where the hells had these come from, and how were they to feed them?_

He walked over to the others, rubbing his shoulders at them. They could smell Sweet-Flower's scent on him, mixed with the scent of the meat.

The kittens dove into it all in a frenzy.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

On the second day of Zelda's combat trials, Peach returned to see him as soon as she was able to.

Deathclaw was already awaiting Sweet-Flower's audience calmly.

She bore more food, a large amount this time, and milk. He ate and drank, less watchful of her now.

She managed to sit within five feet of him without his running off.

The breeze was light, but still bitingly cold. Though the temperature had been dropping for the past day or two, luck had it that it was at least still dry.

“I brought you something so that you wouldn't be so cold at night anymore,” she told him as she reached into a second bag. She drew forth a large wool blanket, careful to splay it out without moving too quickly.

Deathclaw approached her offering, sniffing. It had an empty scent to it, unused.

He clawed gently at it, finding a spot that felt right, and she slowly covered him with it.

There was enough food that his pack would eat well that night, and this blanket meant that they would even be warm after so very long without.

More noises came from her, the same ones as the previous day, just before she'd left.

“I'll come back tomorrow, I promise! O.K.?” she asked him, “I have to leave now, but I _will_ be back – _please_ don't go away.”

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The third day of combat arrived. It was to be the last of them, and the second had hardly even occurred. The first day had warned away most of those who would see themselves seated on the throne.

This was the last day that Peach was scheduled to be here at all, though she was bound and determined to continue to return for as long as she could.

Once again, Sweet-Flower had brought food.

This time, as much as it truly was, Deathclaw knew how pitiful it remained in light of their number.

He looked to her, hoping against hope that she'd somehow grasp his words, “Nga-rurr, ng- _ngu-rah_!” and turned his head backward in the direction of his colony.

“Row- _urr_?!” Sweet-Flower replied, a note of panic edging into her voice as she looked back and forth between him and where he had indicated to her.

He was dumbfounded. _She had actually understood him – that there were_ others _who hungered?_

Sweet-Flower made her now-expected calm-noises, telling him to wait, then disappearing as before.

And so he waited.

She returned, as good as her word, bearing still more food in two large cloth sacks – fish, fowl, meat, cheese, eggs, some crunchy stuff that teased the corners of his memory, and not a single whiff of putrescence nor a bone to be had in the lot; there were even soft organ meats that the kittens could eat easily. She opened the second bag and brought out a tray. Pouring something into it, she backed away again.

Heavy cream – and it was fresh!

Memories of home slammed into him, this time. _Milk and food, a warm fireplace and a blanket all his own..._ He shook his head as his heart ached. _That was hot-and-colds ago. What good could come of it now?_

He ate some, then began to drag the bag away with great difficulty. Sweet-Flower followed. He watched carefully, but she seemed to want to help, and still carried the bag with the cream and the tray.

Nearing the colony, he stopped, unwilling to ransom away their safety.

She made some calm-noises, then more-civilized mewling.

 _Apparently, yes... she_ can _talk._

Placing the tray near the wall, out of sight from any likely foot traffic, and in an area that would remain well shaded, she brought out several more. After emptying two gallons of cream, she bobbed her head to him a few times, indicating that they were his.

Moving away from the trays a few feet, she removed something from her back. Another blanket and a puffy sleeping bag that she unfurled for him.

More noises came from her, the same ones as the previous two days, just before she'd left.

“I'll come back tomorrow, I promise! O.K.?” she asked him, “I have to leave now, but I _will_ be back – _please_ don't go away.”

He called his pack to the bag of food and the hitherto untouched trays of cream, nuzzling open the bag and pawing out the lightly-tied packages of delicacies.

As the others ate, Deathclaw thought.

There was no choice. He had to know. They couldn't all survive as it was, and now...

That pack-scent had already convinced him of Sweet-Flower being worth investigating, and the kittens forced the issue.

He left them to their feast and followed Peach's trail.

He spotted her only two blocks later, and dashed to catch up. It was a good thing that he had, since she was climbing into a coach as he brushed her thigh.

She gasped excitedly, and held the door for him. He might not know whither she was bound, but it was necessary.

It wasn't long at all before they reached the palace. The staff treated Deathclaw with as much deference as they showed to Sweet-Flower.

Shortly after their arrival, he felt someone watching him just before he caught the scent. It was the tall-one with the Pepper-Bite, the one whose mate-scent was bound to Sweet-Flower's. They locked gazes, measuring each other; neither felt the challenge a threat to the other, nor to Sweet-Flower. After a moment, they each withdrew themselves, acknowledging that the moment had passed.

Peach, bouncing giddily into the royal apartments, made the rounds of introductions.

During the carriage ride, she had decided to call him Mister Fluffykins. His fur was puffy, his toes had tufts sticking out of the spaces between them, and he was simply so adorable that no other name presented.

Zelda embraced her and enjoyed her welcoming kiss, then stooped to examine the newcomer.

Sonic even came out of the kitchen to say hello with some morsels that Mister Fluffykins had never imagined could even exist.

Tails was playing with him, tumbling around, as he discovered Deku Scrubs ambling toward him. The Fridays were happy to make him welcome, clearing space in an adjacent room and piling pillows within it.

Sonic mentioned that they'd need to put in a larger standing order with the palace kitchens, if they were planning to keep feeding a mountain lion. Peach shook her finger at him playfully while Ruru wasted no time getting comfortable on Mister Fluffykins's back.

In all, it was a wonderful evening. Zelda had completed her combats with no question of her supremacy, everyone was finally together again, and he was a perfect addition to the family.

Deathclaw certainly enjoyed all of the attention that he'd received that evening, especially having eaten so much that he had become sick twice – and although they'd removed the mess immediately, they hadn't seemed upset, indeed they'd given him still more food to make up for it.

They'd even given him a room of his own.

As it grew dark outside, things settled down. Some opened flat things and stared at squiggles, the light-furred one doodled and tinkered. In particular, Tall-Skinny-Pepper-Bite made a screen show pretty pictures and sound, enthralling him so thoroughly that he barely noticed when Short-Fat-Sweet-Flower sat with them and began scratching his ears and throat.

As it grew later, some went off to sleep, until at last Short-Fat-Sweet-Flower gave him nuzzlings and a kiss, following Tall-Skinny-Pepper-Bite with calm-murmurs to him.

He stayed awake late, watching more of the magical sound-pictures.

Eventually, all was quiet, save for the picture-screen. The moon was high, beginning its descent at this point.

He'd reached his decision.

Pushing up the transparent wall-hole, Deathclaw crept out silently.

It was long before the streets would fill with tall-ones, but he had to make the journey with enough time to return and perhaps leave again before the streets began to fill.

The moon hadn't gone far before he arrived at the colony. The others were all curled up within the bag and blankets, a warm pile of well-fed furry contentedness.

“Rowr!”

It didn't take long to waken them all, but none of them wished to leave the warmth of their new nest. Forcing them to move was like... like herding cats.

At least there was still a sizable portion of food remaining for a late-night breakfast before their exodus, as well as sufficient cream to quench their thirst. It was bitterly cold, but not so much so that the cream had frozen over.

“M-m-murroww? Ra-uur-rr!”

The air was still, but carried the promise of imminent snow. The temperature wasn't dropping any further just now, but the increasing moisture bore its own threat. _It would be a long and miserable walk home to their now-cold bag and blankets, if they were turned away. Beyond that though... they'd lose half of their number all too soon thereafter – within half of a moon, if that._

_Perhaps they could stay here, on the grounds at the least. If only they could claim territory near the kitchens, then the midden would almost certainly offer more than enough to eat. There were enough fir trees about that they could weather the storm if need be, after which he could seek out the stables for them. It would be an entirely different unpleasantness, but he could drag the blankets back here, maybe the bag too..._

Tall-Skinny-Pepper-Bite – the one whose mate-scent covered Short-Fat-Sweet-Flower – opened the tall opaque wall-hole.

 _Warm air, food-smells._ His heart lurched at this. _The ground is growing damp. It will be a hard loss indeed, if this doesn't work._

Zelda found Mister Fluffykins sitting there in the sharp predawn darkness, regarding her calmly.

She made some calm-noises, “Well good morning,” then her eyes traveled across the others, glaring sullenly back at her. More calm-noises, “...and good morning to you all.”

They stared at each other for a moment, Deathclaw's head cocked to the side as he deigned to blink slowly at her.

“Squishy-poos, it's for you...”

_Her voice carries the lilt of mate-call. Good, she understood and has given her assent. Now only the formality requires attending._

Short-Fat-Sweet-Flower appeared behind Tall-Skinny-Pepper-Bite, yawning and stretching.

“Fluffykins!” Peach cried out, dropping to the floor and proceeding to exchange head butts and cheek rubs.

Deathclaw sat back to look at Short-Fat-Sweet-Flower, then back at his pack, and finally back again to Short-Fat-Sweet-Flower.

Even as he did so, the first few fat blobs of snow drifted gently through the light cast from within, followed immediately by a gust carrying some pellets of sleet and drops of freezing rain.

Peach shot Zelda an imploring look, her eyes wide, her chin quivering. Her breath came in short sharp gasps as she emitted a tiny mewling, soft and high-pitched. She also pulled herself in a little bit, making herself small while craning her neck upward.

All of this caused a stir among the pack, their ears all perking and twitching as their eyes took in her movements, but Deathclaw was no longer surprised by this, though it was amusing to observe his pack's reaction. _She could speak properly, somehow, and that was all that there was to it. It was interesting, though, that Tall-Skinny-Pepper-Bite could also hear it, and that Short-Fat-Sweet-Flower had chosen to use it with her. He was duly impressed by their communication skills._

Zelda simply shook her head briefly, her eyes looking toward the ceiling as she wondered why Peach even felt the need to ask.

Deathclaw simply walked in during this exchange.

_His sense of relief was overwhelming. The back of his skull was throbbing just beneath his ears. He'd had no idea that he'd pinned so much hope on this moment._

His pheromones washed over the others, the seven who still considered the tall-ones with some wariness, but followed him in. As the last of them entered safely, two more appeared from behind the bare mums, each carrying a tiny ball of fluff.

“ _Kittens!_ ” Peach exclaimed with glee, suddenly trying to rush to them, get out of their way, and rush to the kitchen for milk all at the same time.

“D'ye think that's the whole pride then, Princess?” Zelda inquired.

“Clowder,” Peach corrected.

“Geek,” she replied, and waited.

“No,” was all that Peach said for a moment.

“There are more then?”

“No, just not a clowder...”

“You just said –”

“I meant that you'd meant ' _clowder_ ,' not ' _pride_ ,' but I'm telling you that they're not a clowder. That's a pack.”

Zelda simply waited for Peach to gather her thoughts and explain her point.

“You're seeing cats. Stop. Just _watch them_ and tell me what you see.”

Zelda, puzzled, turned toward the cats now surveying their new demesnes.

“ _Fuck..._ ”

“Precisely. That's not a dozen individual cats wandering around in random curiosity, they're a coherent unit inspecting, communicating, and attending each individual's location and activities.”

_No sign of Dark-Fur, Light-Fur, Tiny-Mouth, or any of the Walking-Woods yet, but they followed these two... sort of. This new pack-extension held a strange hierarchy; it seemed to shift with no clear rules. Probably still retired to their attached sleep-places._

They would be safe and comfortable here.

 _A_ forever _home, for_ all _of them._

Now he could rest...

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Months had passed, and all was well.

The kittens were growing brave, though they were still clumsy. The others had integrated well enough that they no longer watched everyone intently. Toys covered the floor and walls of their room. Perches, walks, and tunnels were strewn along the walls haphazardly. And boxes... so many boxes. Pillows and soft, squishy sleeping nooks abounded; there was even a cat-sized sofa directly in front of a combined intervision-scrynet display with a simple pressure-pad control area – usually set to some nature show (typically _Cats Impossible_ ), but quite often with one series or another of _Spell Trek_ playing (they all liked it). A small stream of spring water kept a glazed porcelain basin continuously fresh and replenished. They had their own heating and cooling areas, as well as a double-flapped tube built into the wall just for them – this exited onto the balcony right into a few square yards of cat grass and catnip, with a canopy against inclement weather and a small fishpond for their pleasure as they played _tiger in the grass_.

Deathclaw often bathed and swam in that pond, frightening the fish to no end.

He returned to his languorous picking apart of a B.L.T.-with-egg-and-cheese as he sunned himself on the tall-ones' bed, a bowl of yogurt still awaiting him. He wondered idly if there might be some nicely seared 'burgers in the offing, if he hinted and schmoozed to Dark-Fur just right. A few light snacks were the perfect way to follow up a late-morning-snooze.

He'd begun putting on some weight of late. In fact, they were all becoming rather markedly portly.

Life was good.

**O ~~~ O**

**Author's Note:**

>  **1** Deathclaw: his proper name in IPA ([International Phonetic Alphabet](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/International_Phonetic_Alphabet#Letters)) would be pronounced /khʔχːʁ̰ː/.


End file.
